On the first day of Christmas...

When I was a little girl, the last week of November was a torturous time. I would anxiously spy on the clock, waiting for the days to tick by until finally it would land on the first day of December.

I had decided that day would be the start of my Christmas campaign, a festive assault on my poor, unsuspecting family.  I would pester Dad to cut a branch from the lone pine tree on the banks of our little creek and stand watch like a little general making sure it was as close to Hollywood-perfect as possible.  Let's just say it wasn't always the most beautiful but that's often the case with real stuff.

As Mum pulled the box of Christmas decorations down from the top cupboard in the spare bedroom I would eagerly wait below, arms outstretched, ready to accept the treasures. The box would be haphazardly packed with a hotchpotch of trinkets: tiny glass-like ornaments, snakes of tinsel, a little straw angel.  I would diligently dress the tree as it sat politely - my most supportive Christmas ally - between the piano and the wood heater, calling for help to place the angel on top of the highest branch. 

The following weeks would be filled with festivities. I remember fossicking through the cupboard for my favourite John Denver Christmas record; thumping out Silent Night on the piano as the daily house soundtrack; sitting on the verandah podding fresh peas with my dear Granny; and deeply inhaling the welcome smells of plum puddings boiling away while apricot sauce, laced with brandy, warmed on the stove. 

To be honest, not much has changed in that years since that little girl has become a (mostly) fully-formed adult.  My heart still bursts when the crackling record player fills the house with old carols and friends drop into our family farm for a Christmas tipple.  I adore buying thoughtful presents for my family and dear friends, having an woozy afternoon nap after overdoing it at Christmas lunch and packing my bag for our annual Boxing Day roadtrip to the beach.  

But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.  We have 24 days to go my dears! Silver bells...  

Ho. Ho. HO.

The joy arrived.
In bucketloads.
Wishing you peace and love dears. Today, and for all the days that follow.

I wish I had a river...

How do you feel about Christmas? As a child it was my absolute favourite time of the year. The magic used to overwhelm me and I was truly swept away.

Now, I find that I equally love it and am challenged by it. By the magic, and sometimes by the ordinary-ness of it as an adult. And mostly by how quickly it creeps up!

And, so here we are...

It's coming on Christmas, they're cutting down trees. They're putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace.

Last year I missed Christmas. It was, well, pretty much irrelevant. In some ways in didn't really matter, and in other (overly dramatic) ways it was seriously sad being oceans away from family. And so this year I'm slightly tentative. I'm so excited to spend it with my loved ones but also slightly, and inexplicably, melancholic.

So what better way to bring back the buzz than John Denver and The Muppets? When I was a small girl living in the country John Denver's Rocky Mountain Christmas album was a regular on the record turntable. I (well, Ownself) would demand that the tree be set up on 1 December and race about the house in the middle of a sweltering Aussie summer singing about chestnuts roasting, cowboys on snow-covered plains, silver bells and pleas for Daddy to not get drunk this Christmas.

Hopefully Dad does get drunk this Christmas. When he does he jokes quite a lot, thinks his jokes are truly brilliant and his mouth twitches in anticipation of the punch line. It's quite hilarious for bystanders.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays. xo